Naraku
Draconarius
Jedakk's tutorial on cross making inspired me. I mean, really inspired me. I got the idea for this story and wrote the whole thing in about two hours. That's crazy! My last story probably took a hundred hours or more. This thing just seemed to flow out of me.
Of course, it is short. And it's kind of a shaggy dog story: a long set up for a silly punchline. And, because I wrote it so quickly, it may seem a bit unpolished. But, it is just a silly little thing. Hope you like it.
Albanius the Bandit was having a very bad day. In fact, he had been having a bad week. It had begun with his being captured by the Romans. They would never have caught him if he hadn't been so drunk that he could barely stand up straight much less fight or run. Gods damn that Lupia, he bet she deliberately got him drunk so she could turn him in for the reward.
Then, they put him chains and marched him for three days down to Camulodunum. If he had hoped for any sympathy from his fellow Britons, he was disappointed. After all, Boudica had been dead for over a hundred years. They were all good Roman citizens now and did not see him as a rebel, but as what he was: a thief and a murderer. Well, if he was being completely honest, that's pretty much how he saw himself. And to make sure everyone knew it, the soldiers hung a sign around his neck with those very words painted on it. So, every little village, hamlet and town they passed through, people turned out to get a look at the man being marched along in chains. And, when they read the sign - or had it read to them - they hurled everything from insults to rotten food to shit at him.
By the time they got to Camulodunum, he was filthy, hungry, sore and exhausted. At least he got to rest for two days until the Governor returned from Londinium. Two days in a filthy, damp, cold cell. Two days of gruel, hard bread and sour wine. Some rest.
At least the trial was quick. He was guilty. No question about it. There were lots of witnesses. He knew he should have been more careful and killed people after robbing them. But, what could he do, he was too kind hearted. He could beat the men and rape the women, but he couldn't bring himself to kill them unless they fought back. But, some of them had, so that made him a murderer. It wouldn't have matter anyway. He talked too much, especially when he was drunk. And, he drank too much. So, he bragged about his exploits to anyone within earshot. The Governor wasted no time. He pronounced him guilty and sentenced him to be crucified.
And, that's when thing started getting really bad.
They dragged him into the courtyard, stripped him, bound him to a pillar and began his whipping. They beat him until he howled like an animal then continued beating him until his back was a bloody mess. And, to add insult to his injuries, they taunted him. They especially joked about how such a big man could have such a small penis. He wanted to tell them it wasn't really small, it was just cold. But, the pain of having his back flayed with the flagellum, made it difficult to respond.
Things got worse. They laid the patibulum across his shoulders and tied his arms around it. They hauled him up to his feet and marched him out the gate and into the streets. The people of the capital were a more sophisticated lot than those in the countryside. They had seen lots of men and women paraded naked through the streets, on their way to be crucified. They didn't throw shit at him. In fact, most barely took notice of him. Some did though, and they did shout insults. Mostly, about the size of his penis. Gods damn them, he thought, hadn't they ever heard of shrinkage?
The walk to the crucifixion site was less than a mile. For Albanius, it seemed to take forever. He collapsed to his knees when they stopped, then fell to the ground breaking his nose. One more bad thing.
The Romans untied the patibulum, rolled him onto his back and held him down for the nailing. He wanted to fight them off, but he was too exhausted. They stretched out his arms and pressed the first nail to his right wrist. And then the hammer fell. He felt a pain like he had never felt before. He screamed like he had never screamed before. He screamed just as loudly when they nailed his right wrist.
Two men took hold of each end of the patibulum and lifted it up, pulling Albanius to his feet. He didn't want to get up, he wanted to just lie there. But, the nails dragging his wrists gave him no choice. He screamed in pain again. They paid him no mind and lifted the patibulum up till it was at the top of the stipes. A fifth Roman climbed a small step ladder and moved the crossbeam into position so that the mortise hole in the center was positioned directly over the tenon cut into the top of the stipes.
And that's when thing got much worse.
There should have been a "thunk" as the patibulum was dropped into place. Instead, there was a bump. And then another bump. The crossbeam was bounced sending new waves of agony down Albanus' arms and through his entire body.
" What's wrong?" asked the officer in command.
"It doesn't fit." replied the soldier on the ladder.
"What do you mean it doesn't fit?"
"The hole's too small for the thingee."
"You mean the mortise is too small for the tenon?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, how did that happen? Who cut the patibulum?"
"The new guy, Crispus."
"Didn't he use the template?"
The soldier on the ladder looked at the others. One of the ones holding the left side of the beam spoke up: "I don't think anyone told him about the template."
"Well", said the commander. "Fix it!"
"How, sir?" asked the one on the ladder, "The only tool we brought was the hammer."
The commander slapped his hand against his forehead: "Fuck! Fine. Put him down and one of you run back and get a chisel."
So, they lowered the patibulum and leaned it and Albanius against the stipes while one of the soldiers ran back to the fort.
And, as he sat there, his back torn to shreds, his wrists nailed, every muscle and nerve in his body in the most terrible pain he could ever imagine; Albanius thought: "Well, at least this day can't get any worse".
And that's when it started raining.
Of course, it is short. And it's kind of a shaggy dog story: a long set up for a silly punchline. And, because I wrote it so quickly, it may seem a bit unpolished. But, it is just a silly little thing. Hope you like it.
Albanius' Very Bad Day
By Naraku
Albanius the Bandit was having a very bad day. In fact, he had been having a bad week. It had begun with his being captured by the Romans. They would never have caught him if he hadn't been so drunk that he could barely stand up straight much less fight or run. Gods damn that Lupia, he bet she deliberately got him drunk so she could turn him in for the reward.
Then, they put him chains and marched him for three days down to Camulodunum. If he had hoped for any sympathy from his fellow Britons, he was disappointed. After all, Boudica had been dead for over a hundred years. They were all good Roman citizens now and did not see him as a rebel, but as what he was: a thief and a murderer. Well, if he was being completely honest, that's pretty much how he saw himself. And to make sure everyone knew it, the soldiers hung a sign around his neck with those very words painted on it. So, every little village, hamlet and town they passed through, people turned out to get a look at the man being marched along in chains. And, when they read the sign - or had it read to them - they hurled everything from insults to rotten food to shit at him.
By the time they got to Camulodunum, he was filthy, hungry, sore and exhausted. At least he got to rest for two days until the Governor returned from Londinium. Two days in a filthy, damp, cold cell. Two days of gruel, hard bread and sour wine. Some rest.
At least the trial was quick. He was guilty. No question about it. There were lots of witnesses. He knew he should have been more careful and killed people after robbing them. But, what could he do, he was too kind hearted. He could beat the men and rape the women, but he couldn't bring himself to kill them unless they fought back. But, some of them had, so that made him a murderer. It wouldn't have matter anyway. He talked too much, especially when he was drunk. And, he drank too much. So, he bragged about his exploits to anyone within earshot. The Governor wasted no time. He pronounced him guilty and sentenced him to be crucified.
And, that's when thing started getting really bad.
They dragged him into the courtyard, stripped him, bound him to a pillar and began his whipping. They beat him until he howled like an animal then continued beating him until his back was a bloody mess. And, to add insult to his injuries, they taunted him. They especially joked about how such a big man could have such a small penis. He wanted to tell them it wasn't really small, it was just cold. But, the pain of having his back flayed with the flagellum, made it difficult to respond.
Things got worse. They laid the patibulum across his shoulders and tied his arms around it. They hauled him up to his feet and marched him out the gate and into the streets. The people of the capital were a more sophisticated lot than those in the countryside. They had seen lots of men and women paraded naked through the streets, on their way to be crucified. They didn't throw shit at him. In fact, most barely took notice of him. Some did though, and they did shout insults. Mostly, about the size of his penis. Gods damn them, he thought, hadn't they ever heard of shrinkage?
The walk to the crucifixion site was less than a mile. For Albanius, it seemed to take forever. He collapsed to his knees when they stopped, then fell to the ground breaking his nose. One more bad thing.
The Romans untied the patibulum, rolled him onto his back and held him down for the nailing. He wanted to fight them off, but he was too exhausted. They stretched out his arms and pressed the first nail to his right wrist. And then the hammer fell. He felt a pain like he had never felt before. He screamed like he had never screamed before. He screamed just as loudly when they nailed his right wrist.
Two men took hold of each end of the patibulum and lifted it up, pulling Albanius to his feet. He didn't want to get up, he wanted to just lie there. But, the nails dragging his wrists gave him no choice. He screamed in pain again. They paid him no mind and lifted the patibulum up till it was at the top of the stipes. A fifth Roman climbed a small step ladder and moved the crossbeam into position so that the mortise hole in the center was positioned directly over the tenon cut into the top of the stipes.
And that's when thing got much worse.
There should have been a "thunk" as the patibulum was dropped into place. Instead, there was a bump. And then another bump. The crossbeam was bounced sending new waves of agony down Albanus' arms and through his entire body.
" What's wrong?" asked the officer in command.
"It doesn't fit." replied the soldier on the ladder.
"What do you mean it doesn't fit?"
"The hole's too small for the thingee."
"You mean the mortise is too small for the tenon?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, how did that happen? Who cut the patibulum?"
"The new guy, Crispus."
"Didn't he use the template?"
The soldier on the ladder looked at the others. One of the ones holding the left side of the beam spoke up: "I don't think anyone told him about the template."
"Well", said the commander. "Fix it!"
"How, sir?" asked the one on the ladder, "The only tool we brought was the hammer."
The commander slapped his hand against his forehead: "Fuck! Fine. Put him down and one of you run back and get a chisel."
So, they lowered the patibulum and leaned it and Albanius against the stipes while one of the soldiers ran back to the fort.
And, as he sat there, his back torn to shreds, his wrists nailed, every muscle and nerve in his body in the most terrible pain he could ever imagine; Albanius thought: "Well, at least this day can't get any worse".
And that's when it started raining.
I'm glad that old PDF still could provide some inspiration after all these years.
I need to go back and revisit that story.
